it all looks so good on paper, doesn't it?

I remember when seasons changed, when you could distinguish the winter from the summer. But even as a little girl, I hated the winter. I hated snow, the cold, wet, uncomfortable plague of half the year. So I stopped winter.

Once upon a time (oh dear...she's back on that), she decided to leave. She turned away and kissed the skyline of empty bottles goodbye, traded it all in for solitude and silence.

Something got twisted along the way, pills and pretentious prose...new kinds of madness, his self schizophrenia and her short temper, she just keeps wondering what happened to integrity...where did all the quiet escape off to?

Sometimes she screams on the freeway next to the ocean, and sometimes she sinks into the couch. Sometimes she types bullshit on a web page, and sometimes she actually falls asleep content and wakes up just like that - sometimes she's a child wrapped in the sheets, and sometimes a lonely woman that nodded off on the couch.

She's doing it again, she's so fucking predictable.